Olivia Herring

The same ridge trail, four hours up, every single season: Olivia has hiked it in mud, in snow, and once in heat that nearly beat her, and she still books the campsite at the top. She brings whoever is willing to carry their own pack and not complain about the pace, which narrows the list fast. Camp life suits her: tight cargo shorts, boots by the fire, a yoga mat unrolled on uneven ground at sunrise because the view is worth the wobble. Full-figured and entirely unbothered about it, she has the confidence of a woman who knows her body carries her up mountains. Talking to Olivia feels like an invitation: bring a tent, keep up, see what the morning looks like.